


The Birthday Card

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday, Developing Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire gives Enjolras a birthday card. Things go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birthday Card

**Author's Note:**

> I had genuine, grand ambitions to write an Another Country AU for Neil for his birthday, but it turns out that I know actually nothing about early 1900s British schools so that plan failed miserably.
> 
> Then I found this card at Hallmark while trying to find an 80th birthday card for my grandmother, and couldn't resist.
> 
> So a very, very happy birthday to Neil, who continues to deserve much more than this.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies.

“Happy birthday, Enjolras!” everyone chorused as soon as Enjolras walked into the back of the Musain.  


Enjolras rolled his eyes, though he looked pleased as he glanced around the room. “Thanks, everyone,” he said. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Combeferre snorted. “Oh, but we did, or does no one else remember Enjolras’s birthday 2008?”

“Was that the one where Enjolras pouted for two hours because we forgot his birthday?” Joly asked innocently, smirking when Enjolras glared at him. “I mean, it’s a completely understandable reaction to turning 19. It was a hard, hard year, after all.”

Bossuet grinned and covered Joly’s mouth. “My gift to you,” he told Enjolras, though he quickly let go of Joly, looking scandalized. “You _licked_ me!”

Feuilly cleared his throat. “How about we cut the cake?” he asked.

“I have a better idea,” Grantaire said slyly. “How about Enjolras opens his birthday cards first?”

Enjolras obediently sat down at one of the tables as all the Amis brought their birthday cards over to him. He opened them quickly, grinning at the various funny cards and little things everyone had written inside, and Grantaire slowly slid his card across the table when he had opened everyone else’s. “I got this especially for you,” Grantaire told him, fluttering his eyelashes as he did.

“Everyone got their cards especially for me,” Enjolras told him, though there was curiosity in his voice as he took the card and opened. The curiosity was quickly replaced by a scowl as he read the card, and he glared up at Grantaire. “This is your idea of a birthday card?” he growled.

Grantaire’s smile faltered. “I thought--” he started, but Enjolras ignored him, working his way into a rant.

“I realize that what we do here may be a joke to you, but even historical references to the struggle of the people is something that should be taken seriously, even by you, even if you don’t believe in anything,” he snapped.

Wordlessly, Grantaire stood and left as Enjolras paused to take a breath, ready to go off again. Courfeyrac leaned in and snatched the card from Enjolras’s hand, glancing it over. “Oh, really?” he asked. “ _This_ is why you’re upset?”

He passed the card to Combeferre, who looked just as exasperated at Enjolras, and paused only to whisper something to Marius before following Grantaire, unsurprised to find him outside of the Musain, leaning against the wall and looking like he was feeling miserably sorry for himself. “So that was good,” Courfeyrac told him mildly. Grantaire didn’t look over at him. “Tell me, what exactly did you expect?”

Grantaire shrugged, scuffing his shoes against the ground as he mumbled, “I don’t know. I thought he’d like it.”

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “You thought he’d _like_ it?” he repeated.

A small smile lifted the corners of Grantaire’s mouth, and he shrugged again. “Well, at the very least I thought it’d make him laugh.”

“Now that sounds more like it,” Courfeyrac said, grinning. He nudged Grantaire companionably. “But hey, in time, I’m sure he’ll find this hilarious. And in the meantime…”

He trailed off, waggling his eyebrows at Grantaire, whose eyes narrowed. “In the meantime, what?” he asked suspiciously.

Courfeyrac looked incredibly self-satisfied. “In the meantime, I have figured out a way to make Enjolras not mad.” When Grantaire’s suspicious look didn’t disappear, Courfeyrac amended quickly, “That is, I figured out a way to make Enjolras not mad _at you_. It’s basic thermodynamics, transfer of energy. Or something. Combeferre could explain it better.”

“What did you _do_?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac grinned. “I told Marius that he’d get a kick out of the card.”

Grantaire looked taken aback for a moment, then grinned. “You didn’t,” he said, sounding positively delighted, and Courfeyrac beamed at him.

“Oh, but I did. And if we hurry, we can make it back for the fireworks.”

He offered Grantaire his hand and together they jogged back inside the Musain, just in time to hear Enjolras furiously demand, “What do you _mean_ , that’s why Napoleon was good for France?”

Enjolras was puffed up like an angry cat, practically spitting at Marius, who mostly looked confused, and Grantaire’s grin widened. “It might be too early to tell, but this might be Enjolras’s best birthday ever,” he told Courfeyrac, holding his hand up for a high-five.

Courfeyrac snorted but high-fived him nonetheless. “Easy for you to say. I have to go rescue Marius.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll run interference,” Grantaire told him, rolling his eyes as he slipped towards Enjolras, whose face had turned a dangerous shade of crimson. “Alright, time to tone down the homicidal stares, Apollo -- you can’t _actually_ kill dear Marius with a look, no matter how hard you try.”

Though Enjolras transferred his glare to Grantaire, he also deflated slightly, his anger turning more sour as he sighed. “I suppose you’re happy,” he grumbled. “You’re the one who started this, after all.”

Grantaire winked at him. “Of course I’m happy,” he said. “It’s your birthday, after all.” While Enjolras’s brow knitted together, Grantaire barrelled on. “And you can’t really tell me that you’re _not_ happy -- I know what lecturing someone on the importance of the proletariat does to you.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile slightly as he shook his head. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that you planned it this way,” he said dryly. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the worst present I’ve ever given you,” Grantaire murmured, before leaning in and kissing Enjolras’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Enjolras.”

Over in the corner, Courfeyrac sighed happily and slung an arm around Marius’s shoulder. “You done good, kid,” he said, leaning his head against Marius’s shoulder.

“I don’t suppose you’re ever going to explain what this all was about?” Marius asked mildly, glancing over at Courfeyrac, amusement on his face.

Courfeyrac just laughed. “Maybe when you’re older,” he said, before reaching down and grabbing Marius’s hand. “Now take me home.”

As they left, Courfeyrac called over his shoulder, “Happy birthday, Enjy!”, assuming Enjolras was too engrossed in conversation with Grantaire to notice the much-loathed nickname.

But Enjolras looked up, glaring at him, and Courfeyrac practically cackled as he told Marius, “If I were you, I’d run!”

And together they fled, laughing the entire way home.  



End file.
